London Riots: Croydon

Over the course of the past four evenings, London, the city I live and grew up in, has been transformed into a place I can hardly relate to. The horrific violence which started in Tottenham over the weekend under the guise of a protest has quickly spread to other boroughs, bringing with it not only large groups of threatening people but extreme looting, arson and danger.

Many of you who read this blog will know that I commute to London every day from Greater London. What most of you won’t know is that I live just outside Croydon, the town which witnessed riots last night so harrowing that they were termed ‘the worst in Britain’s living history’.

As I sat at home, thankfully safe last night, I watched in utter disbelief as the town I’ve grown up in, the town that is home, was all but destroyed. I watched it on national news channels in a way that felt very out-of-touch, very untrue; it felt like it couldn’t actually be happening. Had that many people really taken to the streets? Were that many people really breaking into every single shop on the high street and beyond and looting it for all it was worth? Were so many really so lacking of any basic human compassion that they didn’t care about hurting those around them - police officers and fellow rioters alike?

Reeves Corner - pictured above, in flames - was a large furniture shop, taking up a whole corner plot in Central Croydon. It was incredibly famous, a landmark, and had been a family business since the 1800s; it had survived two world wars, including the blitz, and a multitude of other problems in the past. It was also razed to the ground last night by a gang of destructive individuals who decided they quite fancied a free sofa or two, and had better set fire to the place afterwards for good measure.

The owners of Reeves Corner are now predicted to be bankrupt, their staff out of work, and their livelihoods completely destroyed. Worst of all, though, must be the insult and disregard to the generations of hard-working men and women that struggled to keep Reeves Corner running - and the way centuries of work was destroyed in just a few hours. Where was the respect for a business which had never done anyone anything but good? What was the point to be made in creating a fire so huge at Reeves Corner that it not only destroyed the shop but also threatened the residential areas around it, causing people to jump from their windows to save their lives? How can there ever possibly be a justified reason for that?

Reeves Corner wasn’t the only fire in Croydon - or, indeed, in London - last night, but it was the biggest. It scared people; it scared my friends who live in Croydon, and my family. It scared me.

The thing is, I’ve always defended Croydon. I’ve joked about it in a negative way, but it’s been in an affectionate way; I’ve always had a soft spot for the place I grew up in, the place people criticise and attach such a strong reputation to, but the place I’ve always felt relatively safe in. After last night, I wasn’t so sure I’d ever be able to do that again; I felt betrayed by the actions of a group of people who had taken over and destroyed my town, who had even destroyed and injured each other - who had even killed a man. I was disgusted.

This morning, though, I saw hope. I woke up to a multitude of support messages for Croydon from Facebook friends and Twitter followers; and I read the plans for a clean-up Croydon support effort starting from 10am. I had to work, but I heard that hundreds of people who were able to turned out with brooms and brushes and other basic cleaning equipment and did their bit to clean up Croydon today. And yes, tonight there’s still a lot more work to be done to restore Croydon to a town which doesn’t look like it’s located in a war zone; and yes, there are bound to be further riot attempts from the mindless minority around the area. But I am comforted and reassured that the vast majority of people in Croydon are just as disgusted by this devastation as I am, and that people can and will pull together to help.

Just as a few came together to destroy the area last night, so will so many more pull together to clean-up and restore the town to what it was, for everyone who calls Croydon and the surrounding area home. As I’ve read and heard repeated so many times today by my friends and acquaintances, Croydon may have had a reputation as a bit of a dump, but it’s our dump, and no one had any right to damage it.

I know you don’t usually read this blog for long, sad stories about problems in London, or elsewhere. I know this is a corner of the internet usually reserved for things that are inspirational, and the problems in Croydon last night can hardly be called that. But I felt compelled to write this, because the resilience, determination and willingness to help that people in Croydon and beyond showed today - that truly was inspirational.

As I write this tonight, reports are coming in of violence spreading beyond London; to Birmingham, Manchester and even further afield. I hope, deeply, that this is untrue, and that the rioters will be dispersed before any more violent acts occur. To anyone who has been or will be affected in any way by the rioting across the UK, though: courage. Let’s not let a few spoil the towns and spirits of so many others. Let’s be strong, resilient and courageous. And instead of destruction, let’s show how inspirational our actions - and our clean-up efforts - can be.

If you'd like to help clean-up Croydon, and London, please visit the Riot Clean-Up site or follow the Riot Clean Up Twitter feed to find out more.

Photo credit

royal wedding: experience

“Oh great, darling, you’re here - take the sausage rolls, will you?” A disposable silver tray lined with party food is thrust into my hand as I stand in the porch of my grandmother’s house, the hostess dashing off to attend to guests and ‘the catering’, leaving the front door slightly ajar.

At this early point in the day, I must admit, I do have a brief look back towards the unsettlingly quiet street. There are no people walking their dogs along the pavement, no traffic roaring its way along the street, on its way to what has become an unusually quiet main road, a few feet away. There’s a slight breeze which makes the bunting of the house opposite - “yes, well, I’m surprised they have that up. Hardly expected it from them - royalists just when it suits”, comments my grandmother in a spout of patriotic smugness - flutter against the front door, and I can hear Huw Edwards’ voice booming out from one of the TV sets inside the house, family friends chattering away. Yes, it’s at this point that I take a brief look back towards the street, and, honestly, wonder why I’m here, why I’m bothering; but then, with a glance down to the sausage roll-lined tray in my hand, I take the step over the threshold. After all, this is April 29^th, 2011; the day of the Royal Wedding, and despite what may await inside the house, I can’t bring myself to miss it.

Almost walking into my grandfather, I know straight away that I’ll give him the mental title of best dressed man here today. Cobalt blue collared shirt, red waistcoat, white blue and red stripy tie and similarly striped cufflinks to match - perfect patriotism, in an outfit which has my-wife-told-me-to-wear-this written all over it. But still. “Hello Grandpa. Sausage roll?” (I’m getting good at my role as party food hander-outer already, it seems).

With a walk through the bunting-lined hallway and a brief hello to the front room filled with people transfixed already by the TV, I’m beckoned into the back room by my grandmother - a room which has been transformed into some kind of British extravaganza, large union jacks on the wall, hanging from the ceiling, covering the dining table as a rather gharish table cloth. And, of course, bunting - because no room in the house, apparently, would be complete without special Royal Wedding bunting.

After many introductions and hellos to various guests, I eventually manage to find myself without trays of party food, in the kitchen with my hostess grandmother who is making, at my request, “a nice cup of tea” - after all, it’s a day when surely I’m allowed to be a walking British cliché? Yellow and bright red teapots and teacups and saucers are scattered around the house, along with little sugar bowls, glass jugs of milk and - my particular favourite - various plates covered with floral napkins and an array of party food biscuits (hurray for Jammie Dodgers).

“How are you, Nan?” I say as she pours the weakest cup of tea I’ve ever seen and piles three sugars into it (I like my tea strong and without sugar, but, you know, never mind. I sense that this is a day not to complain.)

“Yes, well, you know - fine,” she says, in that voice which says I’m not fine at all. “Doing all this catering today has really taken it out of me. It’s just so stressful, you know?” I look at the trays of smoked salmon neatly laid out in regimented lines, plates of finest M&S quiche, cocktail sausages on sticks, finger sandwiches, bowls of salad - and, of course, those sausage rolls. I try one; they’re actually rather nice, and I tell my grandmother, who beams in appreciation. “Waitrose, darling,” she says, waltzing out the room to ‘attend’ to the guests. “Well, it is a special occasion.”

There are three rooms in the downstairs of my grandparents’ house - two sizeable reception rooms and a kitchen, each room with a television that’s switched on and is - loudly - broadcasting the BBC’s coverage of the big day. Out-of-sync, I stand in the hallway for a moment and hear, a second apart, each word of Huw Edwards’ toned-down Welsh lull announcing the arrival of the Prince of Wales and Camilla, three times over.

“Oh god, the horse has arrived!” announces a voice loudly from the front room, with six or so other voices agreeing, with tuts and nods and, yes, the odd comment about Diana. “And what is she wearing?” It’s all rather Daily Express.

I take my seat in the front room next to my parents, grabbing a party ring and a custard cream for some comfort as I listen to the mutterings of my family and their friends. The Queen arrives, dressed in canary yellow, prompting my Nan to leave the smoked salmon and run in from the kitchen - “I said she’d wear yellow! I just had this feeling!” We all nod and agree, while it occurs to me that she must just be pleased that her tea sets now match the Queen’s outfit - after all, that is quite an achievement.

I sit and listen to my parents’ comments on the guests’ attire: “What on earth has Beatrice got on her head?”, “Doesn’t David Beckham look handsome?” and, finally, as Kate Middleton’s dress is finally revealed, we all utter a stunned “Wow”. The first thing we agree on, I think.

And, you see, here’s the thing. Young and old, whatever opinion of the Royal Family, there is, with Kate Middleton emerging from that car, something we all agree on: that the wedding is simply beautiful. We all sit there, suddenly quiet, suddenly mesmerised; and I realise, then, that amidst the ages, the stress and the Waitrose sausage rolls, this day really is special. Yes, there is the kerfuffle after the ceremony itself; the sitting down to eat around the flag-adorned table, the fuss that my grandmother’s silver salad forks haven’t been polished properly by my grandfather and now can’t possibly be used, the hours of regurgitated comments and opinions and debates on what could or should or would have been done differently, had my Nan’s Royal Wedding party guests been the organisers. There’s the guest who drinks too much, the guest who doesn’t drink at all and is made to feel awkward for it, the guest who falls asleep in the front room and starts snoring. And, predictably, there’s the smugness of my grandmother as she recalls the moment that she met the Queen, when she did silver service waitressing at an event she attended once. “Just lovely, she was. Lovely.”

Yes, amidst all this, as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge emerge from Westminster Abbey, I’m aware that this is a very special day. After all, this is a day which has caused my Nan to turn to Waitrose for her cocktail sausages instead of Sainsbury’s; a day which has made my Grandpa pick out his finest red waistcoat; a day which has prompted my father to stay up the night before making four varieties of cheesecakes in celebration. It’s a day which has pulled us, this weird mix of family and friends and opinions and habits, together, to enjoy something communally, something which everyone thinks deserves special attention. It’s a day where we’ve each taken some time out of our normal busy everyday lives, a few moments, to be united. I can only speak for myself, but as I sit there watching Kate and William say their vows, I’m acutely aware that this is a day which feels like it’s united Britain. A day which I’m glad I didn’t miss, despite my hesitation on the doorstep. And, for better or worse, a day that I already know I won’t ever forget.

Want to read more musings, comments and articles by me? Visit my other blog - http://clairemarieslight.wordpress.com, for more of my writing.

anew

This is now an archived post. Thank you for all your comments, and all your support; it really meant a lot to me.

10 days on.

It's been a week and a half since my relationship ended; one of the most difficult and painful times of my life so far. I can't deny there were moments where I didn't know how I was going to go on; that's not to say that I knew I could and would go on, strong, independently, but I just didn't see the way forward.
But this is not a post to mope about what happened, to dwell on the past; no, this is a post to celebrate friendship and support, and real affection from those around you, that all too often can get, even accidentally, overlooked when you're in a relationship.
Because here's the thing: for every moment when I felt like I was empty and lost and alone, I've found that someone was there to inspire me, give me hope, pick me back up and help me to be strong again. I've found that I have the most amazing friends and family that I could ever ask for. Honestly. Here is just a snippet of the support I've been offered:

My parents have listened to me talk and mull over everything repeatedly, not once complaining. My grandparents have been there to offer hugs and opinions and I had a comforting chat with my cousin. Family friends have been in touch to offer support. One of my closest friends flew over from the south of France - yes, really; a good eight-hour journey - to spend a girly weekend over here with me and our other friends (and we had so much fun - photos to follow soon). Another one of my closest friends has been in constant contact every day since it happened, offering to travel down to London from rural Bucks to see me and always on the other end of the phone - and came along to the London girly weekend, offering so much support and love. Another friend is helping me to drown my sorrows with a string of nights out at cocktail bars and long chats. Another good friend sent one of the sweetest messages I've ever read, offered to meet up whenever I want, and has called and texted every few days. On top of that, I've met concerned old university friends for drinks in London who offered hugs and laughs, and have been invited down to Brighton with other uni friends for future girly feel-good weekends. One of my oldest friends is coming back to London this weekend from where she now lives, quite far away, partly just to hang out with me and offer support. Old friends who I've drifted apart from over the last few months or years have rallied around with texts and offers to meet up and chat. Everyone at work has been kind and I've received some lovely messages of regret and support from people I wouldn't even necessarily have expected to hear from - old acquaintances and now distant friends, offering help and chats if they were needed.
Add to that, lovely readers, the amazing comments you left on my previous blog post - which really blew me away in the level of care and concern you showed, and some of the inspirational things you said - and, all in all, I hope you can agree that I am a very lucky girl to have such amazing people in my life in all these different ways. (And I will reply to your comments very soon, I promise! They meant a lot, each and every one.)

I haven't posted for 10 days because I've felt lost and completely uninspired. I knew that February 14th would be a hard day to get through; not only Valentine's Day, it was also his birthday, and so I spent the day being painfully reminded of both occasions. Hard, yes, but it turned out that even yesterday wasn't as bad as it could well have been; the end of the girly weekend, I woke up with my friend in our hotel room in London and received a gorgeous Valentine's Day card from her which almost made me tear up and made me feel strong enough to power on through the day at work, aided by supportive chats with some friends and family in the evening.
The most painful, challenging days are over now, I think; I've got through the first tough patch, and I've got through the double whammy of his birthday/Valentine's - and so, I know, it's onwards and upwards from here.

And that's not to say that I won't have days, hours, moments, where I think of him and feel that familiar tightening in my chest and that stab of painful reality running through me; but now, I know that I can be strong, and that horrible heartbreak is - very, very slowly - beginning to edge away.
Because I realised for the first time this year that Valentine's is about showing people, romantic relation or not, that you care for them; letting those around you know that you love them and realising that you are loved. And, single I may be, but if I have learnt one thing in the past 10 days, it is that I am loved by those around me more than I ever knew or appreciated.

How was your Valentine's? Who are the people you care about the most, and that care about you the most? Do you think you appreciate them enough?



images via weheartit.com

alone

This is now an archived post, from February 2011. Thanks for all your comments and support; it has really meant a lot to me. Life is now amazing!

All images via weheartit.com

con la esperanza se vive: a victory for mankind

How great was the news that all of "Los 33" were rescued successfully, and in good conditions, this week? It was an amazing story, and one which will stay with us and be celebrated for a long time. The truth is, I don't know anyone who hasn't felt somehow personally affected by the Chilean Miners' rescue this week.
There's been a buzz in the office and at home and when out with friends, everyone crowding round the nearest tv screen as we watch, one by one, the miners being brought to the surface. There's been the normally emotionless faces of one of my fellow commuters suddenly breaking into a huge, genuine grin when talking on the phone to his loved one about the rescues, and a subsequent smile forming on the face of several people around him, just because they were reminded of the operation and its success. And there's been me almost missing my train to work after spending fifteen minutes mesmerised by one of the miner's re-emergence to the surface being shown live on TV, watching the capsule break into the sunlight and the touching reunion of husband and wife; only stopping to realise afterwards that I had to wipe away tears rolling down my cheeks.


So why has this story affected us all so much?
Because it was covered extensively in the media? Almost certainly; after all, the latest report out shows that the BBC spent £100,000 on their live coverage of the events. Because what the miners had to survive is most people's worst nightmare? Most probably; it's hard to imagine much worse than 70 hot, dark, long, starving days down a mine, and spending the majority of that time not knowing whether anyone on the surface was even aware you were still alive.
More than either of these things, though, this story seemed to affect the world so much as it had this great, sudden ability to make people feel, for a moment, somehow united in their hope that these miners would survive, live and regain full health.
It's mankind's nature to be curious when events unfold and to be unable to tear ourselves away; after all, there's no denying that a certain part of the fascination that the rescue operation held was an awful, watching-from-between-my-fingers anticipation how potentially wrong things could go. But it is also mankind's nature to rejoice with others when things go well - and this, in truth, is why there was such a global sense of unity and compassion towards the miners.

And ok, so all this talk of a unison of mankind may seem wildly exaggerated - but it actually seems to hold true; a quick internet search brings up a plethora of inspirational quotes relating to the rescue operation, from different countries, in different languages - but they all say the same thing. "It was a victory day for mankind" says one report; "the rescue... clearly demonstrated the co-operation of the entire world uniting in a common cause" says another, going even further to compare the compassion generated around the globe for the miners as feeling as if the world were "holding hands".
This event certainly deserved global compassion and celebration - in truth, how often is it that the world pulls together over any news story, and especially one of such extreme positivity?

Reactions around the globe show that the rescue has, deservingly, restored many people's faith in the compassion, dedication and bravery of mankind, of the merits and abilities of others to influence the world in such a positive way; for many people across the world, it is as if the news has made them stop and think, for a moment in their busy lives, about what selflessness, compassion, bravery and hope can achieve. And that is a reflection, and a realisation, which should be contemplated more often than it is in modern society.

The truth is, this is a lesson for selfishness; the perfect opportunity to be reminded of something that perhaps we had forgotten - that self-absorption may well be the source of emotional and, indeed, actual destruction of our society.
Reading El País yesterday, and taking in the rescued miners' words in the original language that they were uttered, a common theme permeated all the interviews. Yes, they discussed the mine, and how the terrible conditions were; and yes, they raised and re-iterated their concerns over improving mine safety not only in Chile but across the world. More than that, though, the miners seemed united in their desire to dwell most on one topic: their loved ones. The thought of spending time with their relatives again, they said, was what had caused them to cling onto hope in the mine, and was what they now, after being rescued, wanted to focus the rest of their life on.

And that, precisely, shows the danger of the self-absorption of modern society. We are a society of busy, demanding lives; conflicting schedules; a hectic work life with leisure time squeezed in around it. We are a society of ready-meals, of work hard-play hard; of not enough hours in the day, and of wanting everything, and wanting it now. We always have to be doing something, going somewhere, checking something; too often, it seems that we've lost the ability, the time, or perhaps even the inclination, to simply sit, relax and enjoy the things we most value in life.

And what do we value most in life, really? Money, promotions, a house, extravagance, the lastest technology, luxury holidays - there's no denying that living a high-powered, active life can bring extreme satisfaction. But ask anyone what three things they want most in life, and amid the career and the money and the success you'll almost certainly hear that they want to be surrounded by loved ones; by friends, partners, relatives that can share in the success and the disasters of our individual lives.
All too often does the notion that it would be better to have little but to have people to share it with, than to have everything and to be, ultimately, relatively alone seem increasingly relevant to our society. And we are in serious danger of isolating ourselves from the rest of the world; our ruthlessness and ambition and desire for success can, without caution, lead to extreme self-absorption and single-mindedness, to the extent that we end up sacrificing precious time with others in preference for furthering our other, non-social, achievements - to the eventual effect of melancholy and depression; to the feeling of having it all, but having nothing.
And again, this may seem wildly exaggerated and melodramatic; but why else have several UK women's monthly magazines published articles in the past few months on the rapidly increasing numbers of women who strive to 'have it all', and, despite enjoying success, end up feeling so desperately lonely and upset that they take medication, see psychiatrists and feel, ultimately, completely alone.

And this is not to say that we shouldn't strive for successful careers, for ambitious attitudes and for personal achievement; but what this is to say is that if we don't make enough time to share our rewards and satisfaction with others, then we will always, ultimately, be left feeling like something was missing - be left wanting something a little bit more.

So keep in mind the feel-good global "hand-holding" that swept over us with the Chilean Miners story this week; the feeling that compassion and the will to help others still had a real place in the world; the feeling of being more at one with others in our local and global communities. Our challenge now is not to forget that feeling, but to cling onto it and to try our best to move away from self-absorption and personal insularity, and towards, instead, building a more compassionate, understanding and supportive society, where everyone has the will to help and spend time with others alongside chasing other personal goals.